Contact
by KHutchinson
Summary: In the midst of a dull class field trip, 18-year-old Dave Starsky meets up with a lanky blond kid from Minnesota. And that's BEFORE things start blowing up. An unconventional How They Met story.


**Disclaimer: **No money gained, no ownership claimed.

**Notes: **Thanks to everyone who's reviewed my other fic, _When I Breathe_. That fic's on hiatus at the moment, as I'm in the midst of some original work, but I hope to return to it soon. In the meantime, here's the first part of a fic I was working on at the same time as _When I Breathe_, but which I haven't yet had the occasion to post. It's a background, How Did They Meet sort of story, though is rather unconventional in that Starsky and Hutch are in their late teens when they meet up. Beyond that, it's something of an action/adventure story, and is yet again told from Starsky's perspective (just can't get his voice outta my head, it seems).

So, without any further ado, I present...

C o n t a c t

_"The meeting of two personalities  
__is like the contact of two chemical  
__substances: if there is any reaction,  
__both are transformed."  
__--Carl Jung_

God, was I bored.

I mean, really, how many times can ya go through the same damned museum tour, listen to the same dry tour guide talkin' about the same dry old stuff, and not wanna rip your hair out and stomp on it? We'd only been walkin' around the place for an hour or so, but already I was just about bored outta my skull, and the whole _reason_ for my being there—a perky little redhead named Cindy—was snugglin' all over the arm of some dumb jock from wood shop. Really, some days a guy just can't catch a break.

To make things worse, there was some group of snooty rich kids takin' the tour with us—some class trip or somethin' from one of those boring whitebread states in the middle of the country—and they were sneerin' at us public school kids like we were some new species of gutter scum that just happened to walk and talk and go on museum tours. And to tell ya the truth, I was gettin' pretty damned sick of the attitude. I mean, they were all wearin' these fancy private school outfits—you know, snazzy blue blazers and matching ties and _perfectly-pressed white shirts_, the whole nine yards—and they were most of 'em blond and pale and blue-eyed, which of course just made me stick out all the more. I mean, c'mon, a short dark Jewish kid in a sea of snobby Vikings? Might as well'a had _sore thumb_ tattooed on my forehead.

Anyway, though, most of 'em were walkin' around like they were poised on some catwalk or somethin', like the whole world was lookin' at 'em and should be glad for the privilege, but...well, there was this one kid, this tall, lanky, kinda clutzy guy with this short thatch of blond hair, who seemed...I don't know, _different_ somehow. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, 'cause he was strollin' right along with the rest of 'em, every now and then tradin' a word or two with this redheaded guy I heard him call Jack, but there was just..._somethin'_ _different_ there. His movements were a little bit more reserved, a little bit more careful and purposeful, like he was concentratin' real hard on just where to stick his feet—which was probably, I guessed, 'cause the guy had a bad habit of trippin' over 'em. He did it twice while I was watchin', and both times recovered so quick that I don't think anybody else even noticed, but there was somethin' about the way he reacted to his own clumsiness—got this flush in his cheeks, and glared down at his shoes for a second like they'd betrayed him—that really caught my interest.

And since I was about two steps away from O.D.ing on boredom, I decided I might as well keep an eye on this guy for awhile. Beat listening to the tour guide drone on about fossils, anyway.

Yeah, so I went on like that for awhile, sneakin' up a little bit in the group so I could watch him _and_ listen to what he was sayin', and I figured out pretty quick that he wasn't sayin' much. Mostly it was the guy beside him, Jack, who was doin' all the talking, goin' on and on about some chick named Greta and a couple illicit things they did in the backseat of his Porsche. And Hutch (that's what Jack called him, anyway) would listen real intently and nod and chuckle every now and then, but I knew he wasn't all that interested. It was just a feeling, really, 'cause he sure _looked_ like he was into what the guy was sayin'—and I knew that he _wanted_ to be into it, that he was _tryin'_ to be interested 'cause the guy was obviously his pal...but one glance in those baby blues and I knew he wasn't.

He was pretending. Faking. _Actin'_ the part of the snooty rich kid so he'd blend in with the others—with Jack—but I knew right away it wasn't him. Call it a feeling, or maybe an instinct. No, this guy—Hutch. Hutch was different, and was hopin' like hell that nobody'd notice, but ya know what? Somebody did. And while I wasn't about to blow his cover, I found myself suddenly itchin' to talk to him, see what he had to say when he was bein' _real_, when he wasn't playin' a part. I can't explain why I felt that way, or how I _knew_ right away that there was somethin' about Hutch worth knowin', but the feeling was there, deep in my gut.

So when I saw Hutch break free of the group and start towards the restrooms, I took my chance. Waited a couple seconds, 'til it wouldn't seem like I was followin' him, then slipped away and did just that. Across the dinosaur display room, through a marble-floored hallway, and then into what had to be the cleanest damned men's room I'd ever set foot in. And there he was. Hutch. Lanky, blond, clumsy Hutch, standin' there in front of the mirror, combing his hair with his hands and frowning into the glass with this look of...of _intense concentration_ on his face. The same look, as a matter of fact, that I'd seen him givin' Jack when he was tryin' to pay real close attention to what the guy was sayin'. And I figured right about then that maybe Hutch put that kinda intensity into _everything_ he did, and I thought it'd be kinda nice, having somebody pay so much attention to you. Being so _into_ what you were sayin', you know? Like he and you were the only two people in the world.

Right about then, I realized that I was just standin' there inside the door, _staring_, so I forced myself to move. Hutch had noticed me all right—his hands had stopped combing mid-motion, and he was blinking at me through the mirror like I'd walked in on him when he was naked or somethin'—so I cleared my throat and strolled over to the row of urinals like I was there for them and not for him. 'Cause really, how can ya explain something like following a guy into a bathroom without soundin' like a complete wacko?

So I marched right up to the first urinal and took care of business, and by the time I was finished, Hutch was done messin' with his hair and was washin' his hands in one of the sinks, his head bent and his eyes lowered like he was tryin' not to make eye contact with me. And I guess that kinda disappointed me—I mean, here I was, practically _stalking_ this guy 'cause I saw somethin' different, something _interesting_, about him...and, well, I guess I'd been hopin' he'd maybe see somethin' the same in me.

But ya know, I was still feelin' like I needed to talk to him, even though he wasn't even glancing in my direction, so I went over to the sinks and stuck my hands in the one right next to his. While I washed up, I wracked my brain for somethin' interesting to say. Somethin' that would make him look at me and smile and think, _Huh. This guy's not so bad._ But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of a damn thing to say. I mean, men's rooms aren't really all that ripe with good conversational topics, so I guess the odds were against me to begin with...but I was determined. I felt like somethin' important was slipping away from me as the seconds went by and Hutch and me said nothing to each other, so finally I cleared my throat and said the only thing that came into my head:

"So, uh, pretty dull tour, huh?"

Not exactly the witty gem of conversation I'd been hopin' for, but it'd work. And it made him look up from the sink and _at me_, though when he did, his eyes went right away to my ratty leather jacket and my crummy, holes-in-the-knees jeans. But unlike some of his buddies, my outfit didn't make his nose wrinkle up or his lips curl. He was just sizin' me up, kinda like I'd done to him back in the main room of the museum. And as much as I didn't want to, I was feelin' kinda nervous when he was lookin' at me, like there was something _huge_ was riding on his reaction.

Finally, after what seemed like a really long time, he smiled at me. Not much of a smile, just enough so I caught a glimpse of those perfect pearly whites, but enough to make me feel like maybe it hadn't been a mistake after all, my chasin' him in here.

"Yeah," he said in this low, smooth voice that made me wonder if he sang. "Who knew there could be so much to say about a bunch of old rocks and bones?"

I grinned, suddenly feeling completely at ease in this guy's company. "Oh, just wait," I promised with a lift of my eyebrows. "In a couple'a minutes, they're gonna take us into the auditorium for theeee-most-_fascinating_ hour-long slide show you ever did see."

"I can hardly wait," he dead-panned.

We both grinned, and I realized all of a sudden that I wasn't even _trying_ to pretend like I was washin' my hands anymore—and neither was he. We were both just standin' there by the sinks, smilin' like idiots and talkin' like old friends, and all of a sudden I felt really good, like somethin' about my life was finally goin' _right_. And I know, sounds like a hell of a reaction to just sharin' a couple words with some guy in the john, but that's how it felt.

But Hutch...after a couple seconds, he all of a sudden looked away from me, and I saw this little bit of a blush creeping up into his cheeks. He hurried on over to the paper towel dispenser after that, tripping as he went and almost bashing his head into the wall, and then pulled free a couple'a towels with hands that were shaking just the slightest bit.

Okay. Okay, so I'd freaked him out—scared him off. I wasn't sure exactly _how_, but I was gettin' the feeling that there was a hell of a lot more to this guy than met the eye, and that maybe it'd take a whole lot more time than we were likely to have to unravel all the layers, figure out what made him tick.

"W-Well, ah," he said, stuttering a little and then blushing all the harder for it. "I-I...should really get back..."

I forced my voice to stay normal, relaxed. "Can't wait to get to that slide show, huh?"

He gave me a flicker of a smile at that, but it didn't come close to reaching his eyes. Oh, yeah, he was runnin' scared. "W-Well, I..." Frowning, he closed his eyes, drew a deep breath like he was concentrating real hard, and then managed to get out what he was tryin' to say without the stutter. "I'm supposed to be writing a paper on the tour, so I really should...I really should _be_ there...f-for the rest of the tour."

Ah, I was losin' him. In a couple'a seconds, he was gonna walk right out that door and go back to his pals, and that'd be the end of it. We'd go back to our separate ends of the world, and I'd probably never see the guy again. I spent a minute wracking my brain for some magic word that'd make him stay, that'd make him realize that I was worth his time, but I came up empty. I had nothin', and before I knew it, he was turnin' around and starting for the door, and for just a second, I wished that something would stop him, that something would _happen _to keep him in here for just a little bit longer...

...and all of a sudden, there was this...this _boom_ from somewhere above us, and suddenly the room was shaking, dust raining down from the ceiling and the floor jerking around like in an earthquake. Hutch gave a little yelp and grabbed onto the wall to keep himself from falling, but because he was keeping his head down, he didn't notice the beam that was shaking its way loose above him—but I did. And without even a thought about my own safety, I sprinted forward and grabbed onto his arm and yanked him back from where he'd been standing, back away from the door, and just after I did it, that beam came crashing down and actually _dented_ the floor when it hit. Thing was, though, with the room still shaking and me having pulled Hutch away from there so forcefully, it wasn't too long before we both lost our balance and went tumbling.

I hit first, smacking the side of my skull hard on the floor, and Hutch landed on top of me, knockin' the wind outta me and makin' stars burst in front of my eyes. Things started to go kinda dark after that, like somebody was pulling a heavy curtain across my vision, and I knew that I was about to pass out. Just before I did, though, I had time to think, _Ya know, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind... _And then everything went all black and quiet, and I floated in darkness for awhile.

I woke up to the sound of a faucet running, though I didn't open my eyes right away. My head was pounding, my nose was itching with dust, and I was layin' on somethin' hard—the floor, I guessed. And then I felt somethin' wet and cool touch the side of my head, right where it hurt the most, and I opened my eyes with a hiss.

The lights were flickering, making it hard to see, but I could make out Hutch sitting there beside me, his face all tight with concern and a tiny little trickle of blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. "Easy," he said, and I realized that the cold wet feeling was a piece of cloth he was dabbing against my head. "Just lie still for a minute. I think you might have a concussion."

There was that intensity again, this time directed at _me_, at takin' care of _me_. If my head hadn't'a felt like a herd of elephants was goin' at it with jackhammers, I might'a been real pleased about that.

"Wha' the hell happened?" I managed—then coughed, 'cause my throat was really dry and felt like it was coated in dust.

Hutch right away got up and went back to the sinks, and after a second came back with—I'm not even kidding—this little bit of water pooled in his cupped hands. He brought his hands right up to my lips then, and poured the water into my mouth, real slow and easy. He did that another three times before my throat stopped feeling like it was made outta sandpaper, but I didn't even need to tell him that, 'cause it was like he already knew. Instead'a goin' back to the sink after that third time, he sat himself down beside me and let out a heavy sigh.

"Something exploded," he told me quietly, and squinting through the dimness, I could see that the bathroom was in pretty sorry shape. A whole bunch of beams and debris were piled up in front of the door, blocking our way out, and most of the urinals had been shaken right off the wall, nothin' left of them now but exposed plumbing and a couple piles of shattered porcelain. "I tried calling out for help," Hutch went on, "but I think the hallway must be pretty destroyed. E-Even..." He took a deep breath. "Even if there're other...survivors, I don't think anyone can get to us."

I sighed and laid my head back—against, I realized, what had to be Hutch's balled up jacket. "Terrific," I muttered.

Hutch cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "You realize that you, uh...you probably saved my life back there." He gestured at the fallen beam, and I saw a little bit of color creep into his cheeks. His voice wasn't much more than a whisper when he asked, real seriously, like he honestly had no idea, "Why'd you do it?"

I managed a crooked smile. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

He was still in super-serious mode, though, frowning down at me like he wasn't all that sure I was from the same planet as him. "But...you could've been killed."

My first instinct was to give him another throw-away answer—you know, the ole _we all gotta gotta go sometime_ or somethin'—but I could see that this was really important to him, that he really truly wanted to know _why_, so I told him the truth instead. "I don't know," I said softly. "Guess I didn't wanna see you get hurt."

That shoulda been enough to embarrass us both all the way into next week, but for some reason, it wasn't. Instead of lookin' away or gettin' all stuttery again, Hutch leaned forward and, real gently, laid one of those big hands on my shoulder. His voice was real soft. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I said, and meant it.

After that, he _did_ get a little awkward, fiddling with the piece of cloth for a couple seconds like it was the most fascinating thing in the whole world. And then he glanced down at me, all shy and stuttery again. "S-So, uh...you got a name?"

"Nope," I answered seriously. "Raised by wolves."

He arched an eyebrow at me, his lips turning up a little at the corners. "Yeah, I can tell," he said, fingering one of the ratty holes in my jeans. "Looks like they mauled you pretty good."

"Hey," I protested, trying to look insulted. "I'll have you know these are all the rage down at the homeless shelter."

"Yeah, I'll bet," he said with a smirk.

I let out a breath. "It's David."

He blinked at me, looking like he was wonderin' if maybe I'd hit my head a little harder than he thought.

"My name, dummy," I continued with a roll of my eyes. "It's David. David Starsky. But don't call me David; makes me feel like I done somethin' wrong, you know?"

"What am I supposed to call you, then? Starsky?"

It's weird; the only people to ever call me by my last name like that were drill sergeant gym teachers and the principal of my school back in New York, but for some reason, I really just...liked the way it sounded, comin' outta his mouth like that. My name all of a sudden felt like it really _belonged _to me, like it was more than just some random string of syllables that people yelled at me instead'a, "Hey, you."

I smiled. "Yeah. Call me Starsky."

"Starsky," he echoed, trying it out. "I'm Ken. Ken Hutchinson."

The decision was made and outta my mouth before I even had a chance to think it over. "I'll call ya Hutch."

A strange look came over his face. "That's what...I-I mean, my friend Jack calls me that. How'd you—"

"Iunno," I said, shrugging as best I could in my current position. "Guess ya just look like a 'Hutch.'"

Now, it woulda been easy enough to just tell 'im I'd heard Jack callin' him that, but for some reason, it didn't want to come outta my mouth. And even though I got the feeling that he _knew_ I wasn't tellin' him the whole truth, he let it go, prob'ley 'cause we had bigger things to worry about right then than me bein' a glorified stalker.

"So, Hutch," I said while he was still frowning at me, "whaddya wanna do?"

He blinked at me again. "Do?"

"Yeah. I dunno about you, but I'd kinda like to get outta this bathroom sometime. S'alittle cramped for my taste, if ya know what I mean."

He chewed on his lip for a second, getting this big crease in between his eyebrows while he thought. "The door's blocked," he said after a minute. "I guess I could try to move some of those beams out of the way."

I shook my head and—even though it made my skull feel like somebody was stompin' on it—got myself into an awkward kind of sitting position. "Nah, better not," I said after a look at the beams. "See how that one support's hangin? You start moving stuff and ya might send the whole ceiling crashin' down on top of us."

He glanced around the room again after that, the crease getting a little deeper—and all of a sudden, he froze. "Starsky, that grate." He pointed at a big air conditioning grate on the other side of the room, which blended in so well with the wall that I hadn't even noticed it there before. "It's gotta go _somewhere_, right?"

I nodded and dug my swiss army knife outta my pocket. "Worth a shot. Help me up, wouldya?"

He got his arm around me, still real careful and gentle, and with another soft, "Easy," helped me get to my feet. Once I was there, I got pretty dizzy for a second and was worried I might fall right back down, but Hutch didn't let me. He kept his arm around me 'til the room stopped spinning, and then raised his eyebrows at me like he was askin', _You okay?_

I nodded, and together, we made our way over to the grate. He got me propped up against the wall beside it, and then took the swiss army knife from me and started workin' at the screws holding the thing in place. Took awhile—the things were screwed in there pretty tight—but finally, they were all out and Hutch was liftin' the grate up off the wall and lowering it to the floor.

I peeked inside. It was dark and cramped, pretty much like you'd expect a vent crawlspace to be, and I right away felt myself go about six shades of pale. Hutch wasn't even lookin' at me—he was staring into the hole, same as I was—but right away he noticed that somethin' was, as they say, _amiss_.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked, actually puttin' a hand on the side of my face so I'd look at him. "You need to sit down again?"

I swallowed hard, knowin' this was our only way out and _wanting_ to be reasonable about it, but havin' a hard time getting that message from my brain to the rest of me. "I—" I croaked. Shaking my head a little, I cleared my throat and looked up into a pair of concerned blue eyes. "I-I can't..."

Hutch glanced back at the crawlspace, getting it without me even having to say any more. "You want me to go on ahead? I could get help and then... come back for you."

"No," I said immediately, liking the idea of being left alone even less. "I-I just...gimme a minute, huh?" I sank down to the floor, keeping my eyes closed 'cause it was easier to stay calm that way, and after a second, felt Hutch sit down beside me, his shoulder pressed up against mine. I opened my eyes and looked over at him.

"I'm not too fond of enclosed spaces myself," he confided, leaning his head back against the wall. I saw him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I got stuck in my granddad's root cellar once. I was pretty young, and I guess the door locked behind me or something..." He shook his head. "I was only in there for maybe twenty minutes, but it felt like hours. I must've had nightmares about it for years after." And even though there was nothing funny, he chuckled a little bit, maybe just to take away some of the awkwardness of sharing traumatic stories with somebody he'd just met. I felt his eyes on me. "What about you?"

"Elevator," I said, real quietly. "When I was ten."

He nodded, and we sat in a pretty comfortable silence for a minute or two.

"Hey," he said suddenly.

I cracked an eye. "Yeah?"

"You got any matches?"

I patted my pockets, and finally found a close enough substitute in my front jacket pocket. "I got a lighter," I said, tossing it to him. "Why, you gonna send up smoke signals?"

He shook his head and got to his feet. "No. But I figured it might make going in there a little...easier, if we could see where we were going."

I nodded. Made sense. I still wasn't all that enthused about goin' in there, but havin' a little light seemed like it might help. Tryin' not to think about walls closing in on me, I heaved myself to my feet and followed Hutch back over to the vent. His eyes were on me the whole time, watching me real close, and then he took a deep breath and crawled into the hole in the wall—_backwards_, if you can believe it, keepin' his eyes locked on mine the whole time.

"Come on, Starsky," he said gently. And with one hand holding the lighter up, he held the other one out for me to take.

I just stared at it for a minute, like I wasn't all that sure it was real. And then I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his, and felt his hand go all tight and strong around mine. Sucking in a deep breath, I let him pull me into the crawlspace.

Right away, I got all claustrophobic and panicky, but Hutch's hand tightened around mine, pulling me back from the edge.

"Starsky," he said firmly. "Starsk, come on, take it easy. Keep your eyes on me, okay? Keep your eyes on my face."

I swallowed hard and tried to do just that, and real slowly, we started movin', him crawling backwards and me clinging to his hand and following as best I could. And even though my chest was still feelin' kinda tight and I was breathing way too hard, Hutch kept me grounded—kept me from panicking. He kept talking to me while we moved, kept _me_ talking, and then before I knew it, we were at another grate and there was this soft flicker of light coming through it, with dead silence on the other side.

"We're here," he told me softly. "We made it, Starsk."

_Starsk._ I liked the sound of it.

"Great," I managed. "Let's get outta here then, huh?"

He nodded, and let go of my hand so he could turn around and get the grate off.

Only...it didn't move.

He tried again, shoving his shoulder up against it with a grunt.

Nothin'. Didn't even budge.

Panic started welling up in my chest, clenching real tight 'til it was hard to breathe. God, we were trapped. We were _trapped_ in here, in this tiny little space with hardly any light and—

"It's okay," Hutch said hurriedly. "Starsk, it's _okay_. It's screwed on from the outside, but I think we can kick it open. But you're gonna have to help me, 'cause I don't think I can do it by myself. Starsky? You still with me, buddy?"

Something about his voice got to me, broke right through the fear and the panic and made me open my eyes, take a deep breath and then let it out slow through my mouth.

"Yeah," I said a little shakily. "Yeah, I'm with ya."

I scooted up beside him, and even though it was a tight squeeze, we got ourselves arranged so we were shoulder-to-shoulder, our shoes pressed up against the grating.

"On three," he said, still staring straight into my eyes. "One... Two..."

"Three!" we said together, and with our shoulders braced against the walls and each other, we kicked out our feet and slammed them into the grate at the same second.

The grate flew off its hinges and clattered to the floor, and all of a sudden, we were staring into another bathroom, this one a bit less destroyed.

"Ladies' room," Hutch said unnecessarily, and we crawled out.

"Cozy," I said, already feeling better now that we were out of that damned vent. "Hey, I wonder why _we_ don't get any fancy carpeting." I rubbed the side of my head ruefully. "Woulda made that landing a hell of a lot more fun."

Hutch smiled a little. "Good thing you have a hard head, huh?"

I grinned. "Yeah, good thing. ...so, ah...you wanna try the door?"

"Guess we better," Hutch replied with a grimace. He started across the room, me following right behind, and—real carefully, like he was afraid it might run away if he moved too suddenly—he wrapped his hand around the door knob.

"Here goes nothing," he said, and pulled.

The door slid quietly open, and we found ourselves looking into a dark, debris-filled hall.

I lifted my eyebrows at him. "After you."

With a thin smile, he nodded and started to do just that, taking a small step out through the door—but then he stopped abruptly, his whole body going tense, and backed up so fast he just about knocked me down.

"Starsky," he whispered, his eyes wide and his back against the now-closed door. "There's a man at the end of the hall."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Yeah?" I whispered back. "So?"

"So," he said pointedly, "he's got a _gun_."

I felt a little cold trickle of fear start in my gut, but forced it back. "Probably one of the museum guards."

"With a _machine gun_, Starsk?"

I closed my mouth with a click. "Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_. What the hell's going on here?"

I shook my head. "Got me. ...did he see you?"

"I don't think so. What're we gonna do? We can't stay holed up in here forever."

"Yeah," I agreed, "but I can't say I'm too keen on goin' up against Mr. Machine Gun out there."

"Ya think I _am_?"

"Well, maybe..." I chewed on my lip for a second, listening. "Maybe he's gone. Maybe we can just...slip out."

"Oh, that's great, Starsk; and _then_ what?"

"I don't _know_. Play it by ear."

He stared at me. "By ear."

"Yeah, by ear."

"'By ear' is likely to get us shot full of holes. ...maybe we should go back in the vent."

"_No,_" I said firmly, "huh-uh. No way."

"Starsky, those vents probably go through the whole building; they might be our only chance of getting around without being spotted."

"Look," I said, leveling a finger at him, "if I gotta have some wacko with a machine gun comin' after me, I'm gonna do it in a nice, big, _open space_. Not... _trapped_ in some damned vent like a...like a..."

"Rat?" Hutch supplied.

"—like a _rat_."

"All right," he sighed, giving in with less of a fight than I'd been expecting. "I guess we can try just sticking close to the walls. The hall's dark enough that he might not notice us, even if he's looking this way. But let me go first, huh?"

I frowned. "Why you?"

"Well, I'm not the one with a concussion, for one."

"Hey," I said, pointing to the thin gash on his own forehead. "You got a pretty fair crease there yourself, Blondie. Huh-uh. We do this, we do it together. I'll take the left, you take the right."

"Why do I get the right?"

"Because," I said patiently, "I'm left-handed, so it makes sense for _me_ to take the _left_."

"How does that make sense?"

"It just does. Don't argue."

"Fine," he growled. "Fine, I'll take the right, you take the left."

I nodded. "Right."

"Right? I thought I was taking the left."

"You _are_ takin' the left, and I'm takin' the—look. Let's just do this, huh?"

He nodded. "Okay." He turned to reach for the door knob again then, but stopped just short and spun back around to face me. "Hey," he said softly.

"Yeah?"

He gripped my arm for a second. "Be careful."

I nodded. "Yeah, you too."

We both drew in a deep breath, and Hutch pulled open the door.

And there, standing right outside with an ugly sneer on his face, was a guy with a machine gun, its barrel leveled straight at Hutch's chest. The second Hutch saw it, instead'a tryin' to get outta the way or somethin' _sane_ like that, he stretched his arms back and actually _pinned_ me behind him, taking a few hasty steps backwards that ended up pushing me back along with them.

Now, if the guy _had_ opened fire, it's pretty damned likely that just havin' Hutch in front of me wouldn't'a saved me. At that close a range, and with a machine gun? Yeah. We woulda both been swiss cheese. But whether it woulda worked or not, the fact that he actually did that—that he just...pushed me behind him without even a second thought, like it was the most natural, instinctual thing in the world...man, it just blew me away, pardon the expression. I mean, here was this guy I'd only just met, and he was puttin' his life in danger to protect _me_—using his own body as a _shield_, for God's sake. Nobody in my life had ever—_ever_—put that much on the line for me before.

The guy with the machine gun, unfortunately, didn't seem too impressed. "Out," he commanded in this clipped, accented voice.

Hutch and me did like he said, 'cause...well, we didn't have too many other choices, and when we got out into the hall, I fell into step beside Hutch and our captor just kinda stalked along behind us with his gun trained at our backs. We were in serious trouble, I knew. I mean, the museum was in shambles all around us and here was this foreign guy with a gun pointed at us...but I still couldn't help lookin' over at Hutch and catchin' his eye.

When I did it, I was tryin' to let him know how grateful I was—you know, thanks for being willing to take a round of _bullets_ for me, buddy—but something in Hutch's eyes stopped me just short of thanking him. It was...you know, I don't even know how to explain it. But it was _something_, and the second I saw it, it was like...like this direct pipeline to that big blond brain of his. And it told me that we were only gonna get one chance at this, that the guy with the gun thought we were just a couple of dumb teenage punks and wasn't gonna suspect we would try anything with a machine gun at our backs.

His gaze flickered from me to the left wall, then back to the front, then over to the right wall.

_Split up, dive to opposite sides. Then attack. Try to get his gun. If we move quickly enough, we'll get him before he can get off a shot._

I didn't nod, but he saw the agreement in my eyes.

He raised an eyebrow. _Ready?_

_Ready._

_One, _he mouthed. _Two..._

_THREE!_

Pushing off one another's shoulders, we leaped for opposite sides of the hall, angling backwards so we would be carried beyond the immediate reach of the machine gun. And sure enough, the guy's shock at our sudden movement made him squeeze off a couple shots, but Hutch and me were already behind the gun and attacking by then. I leaped at the guy and got my arm around his neck, pulling my elbow tight against his throat and heaving all my weight into the move, and Hutch, meanwhile, snatched the gun right outta the guy's hands and raised it over his head like a club. Figuring out what he was gonna do, I let go of the guy and dropped back to my feet...just as Hutch brought the gun down hard on his head. The guy dropped to the floor like a stone, out cold, and Hutch and me just stood there staring at each other for a few seconds, breathing hard.

Finally, Hutch slumped and leaned his back against the wall, lookin' like his legs were about to go out on him, and I went over to join him. I was feelin' pretty shaken up myself—I mean, that'd been pretty damned risky, jumpin' the guy like that, and now that it'd worked, I was startin' to realize just how much coulda gone wrong.

But it hadn't, I told myself firmly. Nothin' bad had happened, 'cause Hutch and me...it was like we were one person there for a second, like we were one being, thinkin' the same thoughts and just..._knowing_ exactly what to do.

Suddenly needing the contact, I leaned over and rested my arm on his shoulder, and he reached up to grip my wrist in return.

"W-We sh-should..." He cleared his throat, swallowed. "We shouldn't stay here. Somebody might've heard those shots."

"Yeah," I said, but didn't move yet. After a few more seconds, I glanced over at him. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

I twitched my head to indicate the bathroom. "Thanks for what you did back there."

He smiled. "Anytime."

"Hey, Hutch," I said, as something suddenly hit me. "Whaddya think's goin' on here? I mean...whaddya think blew up before?"

Hutch frowned, that crease comin' back with a vengeance. "I don't know. What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinkin'," I said slowly, "that somethin' didn't _blow up_. I'm thinkin' somebody _made_ somethin' blow up." I nodded at the unconscious guy. "Maybe this guy and his buddies."

"But why would—"

"Weren' you payin' attention? The tour guide was talkin' about it—remember? 'Bout that new exhibit they got comin' in?"

Hutch snapped his fingers. "Diamonds. Lots of diamonds and...and rare gems and stones and things. She said they—"

"She said they were in a vault upstairs," I finished for him. "A real thick vault that only one guy knows the combination to."

"But who needs a combination when you've got explosives?" He was quiet for a minute, thinking, then shook his head. "Why do something like that in the daytime, though? There's no way to get away with it."

"Isn't there?" I asked in a whisper. "You heard what they were sayin' about the security system. The whole building's got some...some mechanism built into it. Any alarm gets tripped, and the building seals itself up. Nobody can get in or out 'til the police show up and open the place up again." I met his eyes, and saw that he'd come to the same conclusion I had. "Sounds kinda like a hostage situation, doesn't it, Hutch? And isn't it some kind of a coincidence, things gettin' rough right after _all_ the tour groups went into the big auditorium for that slide show? Pretty convenient, all o'them in one place like that." I let out a breath. "'Cept for us."

"W-We've probably got this all wrong," he said in a shaky voice. "I mean...just because it's _possible_..."

I stared at him hard, trying to look at him and into him. "What's your gut tell ya, Hutch?"

He stared back at me for a few seconds, a warm sort of _something_ passing between us, and then finally he nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay. So what're we gonna do about it?"

I grinned. "What else? Let's save the day."

* * *


End file.
